Inspection
by grayscales
Summary: We see from Gemma's eyes. We see what she sees, and how she sees herself. But how do others see her? A series of drabbles. Sort of numerous character studies. My first fanfic.
1. Felicity

Felicity-

I told myself I'd never be helpless again. I told myself I would always be in control, always be strong, always be the one in charge. I always told myself that I would be the last one standing.  
What a lie.

I should hate her. I have every single reason in the world to hate her. But I can't. I love her too much, and beyond that, I need her too much. In fact, I don't think it is friendship, or love, that keeps me near Gemma Doyle. She has what I need, what I should have, what I have every right to have! But I don't.  
Because the wonderful Gemma Doyle, Gemma who isn't as smart as Ann, who isn't as charming as me, who isn't as beautiful as Pip, is the special one.  
She has nothing that I don't have. I have everything.  
Everything.  
I had everything.

She's killing us all inside, without even knowing it.  
Gemma is killing me, with her power, with the strength she doesn't think she has. She is so lucky, so lucky and she doesn't realize it. I would give up everything for the power she has. I have already tried, and still she is the special one.  
She is killing Ann, because she likes to think she can help. And Ann knows that one day we will leave her and stop calling. And she is dying from the inside.  
She's killed Pippa. My beautiful Pippa. A shining source of beauty, until she was tainted with _Gemma's _magic, with berries as red as her lips. I loved Pippa, like I will never, ever love anyone else.  
Then enter Gemma Doyle, who showed us the meaning of beauty, beyond corsets and lace, and made us hope for more.  
I was once addicted to Pippa, in an offhand sort of way. Now I am addicted to the realms, to the power.  
Take a moment and hand me the absinthe. The laudanum.  
It can't compare. Not to the beauty, not to the hope.

How ironic. It all comes back to her, doesn't it?

A/N: Hey. This is my first fanfic, based on an idea I had last night. It isn't too good, so I'll probably come back and edit it later, if I get any hits or constructive criticism. Which is GREATLY appreciated, by the way. And if you decide to flame, go ahead. It's annoying, but don't expect a response.

Thankayou!

Much Love,  
Scales 


	2. Ann

**Disclaimer- These settings, characters and their personalities aren't mine, blahdeblahdeblah. And this applies to the previous chapter as well. **

Ann-

Before Gemma came, I was _almost_ alright. I stayed up late at night and cried, but at least I knew I had no choice. I had nothing better to work towards anyway. I was hated, and I knew it.  
Before Gemma came.  
She was like a goddess when she came, clothed in light and dark and mystery. And goodness. I nearly loved her for it, until I knew what she had caused me.

She had given me hope, something to reach towards, when I had no means, no arms to stretch out. I couldn't miss the arms, but I regretted that I didn't have them so much more. She had given me friends, yes, but friends that I compared myself to. I was so much less than them, so different from them. And it hurt every time I saw them.

I am not beautiful like Pippa, special like Gemma, or cunning like Felicity. But I am not vain, not possessive, not cruel. I am just Ann. I am nothing that they are. I am not prized, not loved, not rich. And no matter how hard I try to find something good in that, it never comes.

I am not beautiful. I know it, and this bothers me the most. The only beautiful things about me are the shadows of my friends that are imprinted on my mind and the poppy-red tears that crisscross the inside of my wrist. Each slash on my flawed skin is the brushstroke of a modernist painting, methodic and random and textured all at once.

She had given me pain. A new type. Not the kind where I was useless and abandoned, and where I was all by myself. That pain was bad, but not as excruciating. It was not the type of pain as when I would paint my arms with scars, because as the imperfections were added up, it was too beautiful to bear. That pain was much too physical, and nowhere near as raw. It was the pain in knowing that one day, they would leave me, and I would never see them again. Never see the beauty again, never see the Realms. It was odd, because I had been alone once, and now I feared it. But once you have tasted it, it is so hard to return.  
I can see why Pippa never came back.

Gemma is a light that stays in place, taking a chance to light up my world now, but when I travel on into the darkness, it will only seem that much darker.  
Until I make my way back.

**A/N: Okay. That didn't EXACTLY come out how I wanted it to, but its okay. I think I might like Felicity better. The one-shot, I mean.  
****I like Ann better as a character. I think there is so much depth to her that we never really see.**

**Yeah, so constructive criticism and reviews and all that jazz would be a reason to shower you with Kartiks. Or cookies!**

**Much Love,  
****Scales. **


	3. Pippa

Pippa-

I was Beauty. I was Beauty, and that was the last thing I ever wanted to be.  
I was something so tragic, but everyone wanted to be me. They wouldn't understand. Who could? I was beautiful in a way that none were, and I was something to rule, to own, and to possess.  
Only two people ever understood me. There was Felicity, who I loved, who was my friend. Who was more.  
After Fee there was Ms. Moore. At Spence, she was nothing to me. Less than nothing. After, she was everything. I refuse to think of her as evil: she wasn't. She understood that beauty was harsh, and even more than that, death was harsh. She would help me. She would help me see them again.  
That was more than Gemma ever did.  
Gemma was selfish, holding the power and the wisdom and the beauty close to her. She held everything that made us special near to her, until I tugged away. Now I hunger for everything that they had, everything that half of me misses: power and knowledge and mystery. And I will have it. I will have them, in the end.  
Everything I do takes me closer to having that, to holding it, to having everything that she once had. Soon they will have nothing, but I will still go back to them.

**A/N: Gr. Okay, that didn't turn out exactly like I imagined it, but it could be worse. If you see a trend in the endings of all of them so far, I would like someone to point it out. There is one, if you look close enough.  
–bangs head against table- Inspiration, inspiration, inspiration.  
****A Few Minutes Later  
****Nada. Nothing! I don't really like this, so I might go back and change it later. Constructive criticism, people. Please! Reviews make me feel special. –turns on puppy dog eyes-  
****And now that my Author's Note is longer than my drabble, I will go.**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	4. Tom

**A/N: Due to a sudden lack of homework and a sudden rush of inspiration, I am here. Early. Tom annoys me in the books to no end, but if I try to look through his point of view, it gets better (a little) and I start to feel sorry for him (a little). So. Here we go.**

Tom-  
She is my sister. When we were younger we got along fine, I suppose. She was always the lucky one, though, the favored one. They loved her more than they loved me.  
_He_ still does. Even if mother were here, she would love Gemma more. Because Gemma is _perfect_ and she does nothing wrong.  
No one seems to see her when she is so high and mighty, so self-absorbed, so narcissistic. And as much as I want to hate her for it, I can't. She is Gemma. She is still the Gemma who drooled, and who laughed, and who played with me.  
She is still that Gemma, but she is different. She is older.  
Part of me wishes to have that Gemma back, if only for a moment. The other part, the larger part, the louder part, tells me I don't want Gemma back. It says that I want a sister that will marry well, that will do her duty, that will never question, that will stay obedient. That will never attach herself to someone, that will never know love, that will never break out, that will never feel a sense of curiosity. I suppose that is what I want.  
A caterpillar that wraps herself into a cocoon, and doesn't make her way out.  
Is that what I want?  
Maybe that _is_ what I want. Maybe I don't know at all, so that it what I tell myself.  
Maybe that is easiest.  
I don't know.  
I know that she is the key to everything in my life: all the material things that I could want. If she marries well (_she will never know love_) even only our family name will give us benefits. If she makes the right friends (_she will never attach herself to someone_) we will have more opportunities. If she would take what she is given (_she will never break out_) it would be so much easier on all of us. If she would give up what she wants (_she will never feel a sense of curiosity_) it would be better for everyone.  
Everything I want to do, everything, depends on what she does. And she doesn't even know it.

**A/N: Well. That wasn't SO bad. It was a little weird, now that I go back and read it over again. In case you want to know (or have NO idea what it means) the italics in the parentheses are Tom's other thoughts. The part of him that wants the other Gemma back wants her to be happy as well. So its part of him… fighting back.  
****The first person to notice the trend was LunaEquus. –showers her with Kartiks- YAY! Okay. I wanted to thank everyone for all of those spectacular reviews! THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!! They make me feel special and I love you for it.  
****So. Next might be Simon, or even Mrs. Nightwing (I had a moment of Nightwing inspiration). Bye for now, pigeons.**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	5. Mrs Nightwing

**Disclaimer: I keep forgetting this, so this goes for all the chapters I've posted before this: These characters aren't mine, the setting isn't mine, even the way I portray everything isn't mine! It's just a way to show off my lack of creativity. -**

Mrs. Nightwing-

I have seen so many girls come and go that it hurts. I have seen so many children grow older and grow up that it is tearing me up from the inside. I have seen countless people walk in and out of my doors, with nothing special to become of them.  
I have seen so many girls come and go that it is a shame only some are special.  
You can tell when they have a destiny, when they will become something that none of the others will. They will choose a path less traveled, a path that has more dangers but with more of a reward at the end.  
Those special girls are the girls that will work to get what they want.  
I was never out of the ordinary. I waited and waited to get what I want, and I sit here alone. And abandoned.  
But I have them, at least. And the special ones are so much more a comfort.

I hadn't seen a special girl for years. There were Ms. Worthington and Ms. Cross, yes, who were beautiful and cruel and sparkling sharply like glass. There was Ms. Bradshaw, who was smart and lonely and heartbreaking. They weren't quite there. Those three had the potential, but they weren't as… They were too normal a special to be truly extraordinary.  
Then she came.  
The moment Gemma Doyle stepped into my school, dressed all in her mourning black, there was something about her. Something exceptional: this was something I hadn't seen in a long time.  
She would live with Ms. Bradshaw, and I would not be surprised if she started to trail after Ms. Doyle. She didn't. Not for awhile.  
This new girl certainly had spunk: she challenged Ms. Worthington and Ms. Cross, and managed to stick up for someone in her own right.  
I kept a close eye on her.

She must have done something right, to rise in the hierarchy of this school so quickly. Within days, Ms. Doyle won the friendships, if not hearts, of Ms. Worthington, Ms. Cross (only by example) and Ms. Bradshaw. Next to this truly incomparable girl, the well-off girls' brightness seemed to blind. Ms. Bradshaw seemed to become grayer, if possible, and not in a particularly good way.  
But soon the light that Ms. Doyle gave off seemed to infect the other three, until they passed that special light around with joy and merriment and carelessness.

There was something about them that reached into my soul. Something that wished for a second chance. But, in this life, you don't get second chances. I will have to live vivaciously through them.  
My life revolves around these girls. They are all I have, all I am. I certainly need them more than they need me. They are everything.

**A/N: Wow. That's pretty long for me. YAY! Mrs. Nightwing always strikes me as a really cool character. I love her, and tried to give her as much depth as possible. Tell me what YOU think, though. Also, Mrs. Nightwing focuses more on all of the girls at Spence than just Gem herself. So yeah.  
****I want to thank all of my reviewers: I didn't get the chance to thank you individually this time around because I have so much stuff going on.  
****So. I love you guys and I will update within the next 6 days. **

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	6. Ithal

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and if I did, I would surely have more money than I do now. **

Ithal-

I saw the look her gave her. I saw something that passed between them, and that was only the beginning.  
She was with the beautiful Felicity, an oddity against Felicity's purity. _Frumusete_. Her hair was red as fire, and her eyes like green glass. She was the warmth to Felicity's cold. Which is what Felicity showed her: coldness.  
She was not especially beautiful, but she drew attention because of that _look._ The looked that passed between them.  
The boy, Kartik, didn't respond to the women at camp. They were below him, as many boys would think. I just thought that he wasn't old enough to realize their charm. But then, he nodded at her, as she did to him, and there was something there. It may have been attraction, but it may have been respect. She was his equal, and she wanted him to acknowledge it. He may not have wanted to, but it was there.  
She didn't seem like one to claim respect: not like Felicity. There was a feeling of superiority to her, an extreme aloofness, which only made her more wondrous. To this girl, there was nothing.  
So when I laid awake at night, and thought of the gray of Felicity's eyes, the paleness of her skin, the silver of her hair, it was odd that this _foc_girl would pop into my head. What was it about her? Who was she to inspire respect? _Who _was she?  
And what was it about her that kept her on my mind?

**A/N: Woah. I kind of gave Ithal a little crush on Gemma didn't I? I didn't mean to. He just sort of… he is curious about her. Admires her, a little.  
****I know his English isn't supposed to be good, but this is what came out when I thought of him. So deal with it. :P**

**Romanian words (excuse me if I butchered them)-  
**_**Frumusete**__**- **_**beauty  
**_**Foc**__**- **_**fire**

**Review pleasy!**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	7. Simon

**Disclaimer: I don't own. You don't sue.**

**A/N: So! I'm following one Felicity-lover with another. That's it, folks, Simon Middleton! I apologize if I don't portray him well: he isn't exactly my favorite character. In fact, he might be my least favorite. But I have a duty to him and to the wonderful Libba Bray.**

Simon-  
I think I love her. At the very least, I love the idea of her. But, no matter what she says, there is some kind of love.  
That has always been there, and that is why I asked to court her.  
I don't know why she said no.

When I met Gemma Doyle, she seemed interesting to me. She was not dangerous, as Felicity was, and for that reason alone, she was interesting. It was merely a coincidence that she knew Felicity Worthington, merely a play of fate that she was truly _friends_ with Felicity Worthington.  
How cruel fate can be.  
I hadn't quite expected that. I had expected Gemma to be the complete opposite of Felicity. I had expected her to be a normal society girl, always one to act high bred and high born. I hadn't expected anything less, or anything more. It turns out that while she may not have been as dangerous, she was very similar.

She wasn't the kind of girl to steal kisses that she would later claim meant nothing. She wasn't the kind of girl to initiate certain things behind closed doors, things that should never be mentioned in good company. She wasn't the kind of girl to pull me closer and then push me away. And she certainly wasn't the kind of girl who could make my heart twist and burst and still keep me wrapped around her finger.  
She just wasn't that kind of girl.

I have told you everything she isn't, not everything she is.  
She is the kind of girl who would let me touch her hair. She is the kind of girl who would let me kiss her where no one could see. She's the kind of girl who drinks what I give her, if only for a challenge. And she certainly is the kind of girl who gives me butterflies, and nothing more.  
She just is that kind of girl.

Squint and you'll see the similarities. Squint and you'll miss the differences. And that is exactly what I intend to do.  
Gemma is a safe option- I do not love her, even if I have a very slight infatuation. Love is dangerous, so I will look away and choose the safe option.  
Every time I start to think of Felicity, I will think of Gemma instead. I can safely say I will often think of her in the future. How very often.

**A/N: That wasn't so bad. But it took me forever. Review please!**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	8. Carolina

**Disclaimer- I finally remembered to do one of these! I do not own any of these characters, though I think that I have developed Carolina more than Libba has…**

Carolina-

Red hair, green eyes. Red hair, green eyes. Green eyes, green eyes, green eyes.  
That's all I remember. Those green eyes, that red hair, her clammy hand on my mouth. On my mouth and on my nose. Pressing tighter and tighter until no air would slip between her pretty fingers.  
Green eyes wide with panic.  
Green eyes wide with fear.  
Green eyes.  
I wanted my dolly. I wanted my dolly and I wanted to wear Mary's pretty white pinafore and to eat toffees  
That was all I wanted, and I didn't even think that they might want something else. I was a child, and they were children and I trusted them. And now I am dead.  
I don't blame her. At least, I try very hard not to, and I think I succeed. But some times Mary will look over at me, and she has only grown more beautiful as she aged (as I haven't), and her green eyes will gaze at me, and I can't help but shiver.  
Shiver like I did before I died; she will look away quickly and I can't help but see the guilt cross her face.  
Those green eyes.

When Mary came back, she was Virginia. She was still Mary to me, still the girl who killed me, still the girl whom I forgave, but she was Virginia. She may not have been a different person, but she tried to be.  
I saw her daughter not long after. She looked so similar to Mary that I could hardly believe it. I beckoned her into the alley anyway, and watched her from out of the corner of my eye. Her hair was pulled back, much differently than how Mary used to have her hair, and she was staring at me with those same eyes. Big and eerie and naïve and green. Those same green eyes.  
I admit I was frightened of her, and so I did what I was bidden and left quickly. I couldn't help looking back at her when I went away, but I went quickly.

I saw Gemma again later, when I called her into the caves, doing my best to avoid her gaze. She made me nervous, but I was more curious now. Was she like her mother as much in personality as in looks? Would she have a best friend who knew her better than she knew herself? Would she sneak out to the gypsy camp in the middle of the night? Would she talk to my mother, and eat her cookies? Would she kill someone to better herself?  
I was now the one that stared at her, as her green eyes focused on the inside of the cave. I was no longer on the receiving end of those green eyes, but I didn't feel any better for it. I left as quickly as I had before.

It scared me. Even though I stared at Gemma, even though I thought those questions, and watched her, I didn't know her any better. All these years I had thought questions about and watched Mary (Virginia), I didn't know her from Eve. I didn't know her at all.  
I have passed on now, but those two still occupy my thoughts, Gemma more than her mother. She still has a life to live out, and I don't know what kind of choices she will make.  
I only know what I see, and for that I am particularly blind.  
Red hair, green eyes. Red hair, green eyes. Green eyes, green eyes, green eyes.

**A/N- Well.I bet you weren't expecting that! I love minor characters. I think I might try Pippa's knight next.  
****I have over 30 reviews! Over 30! You don't know how ridiculously happy that makes me. Thankyouthankyouthankyou to everyone who has reviewed: I thanked the Thanksgiving spirits for you guys.  
****If you have a minute, tell me what you think of this chapter. I like it, but you might not. Give me some suggestions for characters. I have a list of about 35 characters, but I might have missed some.**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	9. Pippa's Knight

**Disclaimer: -in rushed voice- I am not responsible for any side effects. Standard disclaimers apply.**

**A/N- So, here I am, extra late, but still on the sixth day. I apologize: I didn't have this started, and I was at my friend's house. But I am here now! So, enjoy.**

Pippa's Knight-

I don't think I can ever be close enough to her. Enough is never enough, and enough is all I really want. She is the personification of beauty and love, my private Aphrodite. Ever since I was called into existence, called by her need, purple was my favorite color.  
She needs me.

I guess she doesn't need me anymore.  
She thinks that I still think her beautiful, but she is tainted. She thinks I don't see her stunning violet eyes _(always my favorite color)_ turn to the pale color of milk. She thinks I don't see the need in them, the need that she no longer shows _me_. She thinks I don't see the hunger, and her beautiful sparkling teeth lengthening to form fangs, as she sinks her teeth into a goat's neck.  
She thinks I don't see her for who she truly is, but I do. I see everything about her, and I loved the girl _(more than anything)_ who brought me forth.  
I don't love the girl I see before me. She is not the same.

Where my once-beautiful princess is often on my mind, there is another. No, I will never love another girl as I love _(loved?)_ my princess, but this girl is always second. She is red to Pippa's purple, and red has always been my second favorite color.  
It is odd, because it was Pippa who created me, who created me to love her, to need her, and Pippa who captured my attention instantly. Her blonde friend (_pale as ice and just as sharp)_ was of no interest with me; she was driven to extreme ends to prove her power. There was her gray friend, who was also beautiful (_not nearly as much as the others, but pretty all the same),_ but she seemed to be practiced at directing attention away from her. Then there was the last. This girl was red and green and wary. She was not as beautiful, not as powerful, not as talented, but she held our destinies. Her hands, without her knowing, held our very fate, and she would look on them and she would smile.  
I could tell.

It was Pippa who called me to these realms, but it was with her friend's power, her friend's talent, and her friend's loose and wild beauty. She was everything they were not, and she was everything they were.  
And as I see myself losing her _(roses are red, violets are blue?)_ I think of where my path will take me, out of this beginning _(roses, roses, red, red roses), _out of this garden _(violets, violets, death white violets)_.  
I think of where my path will take me, and I think of where 'the friend' will take me. For it was her magic that created me and it will be by her choice that I fall.

**A/N- Well! I have 40 reviews!!! –dances the happy dance- You guys have given me immeasurable joy, and I really do keep going for you. Enjoy this chapter, I know I did.  
****Drop me a review? Just tell me what you think: please!  
****Happy writing!**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	10. Mr Doyle

**Disclaimer- -insert witty disclaimer here-**

Mr. Doyle-

I would say my heart is breaking if it hadn't been broken already.  
These glass shards of my failure, of my broken heart, sting. They sting my hands as I try to pick them up and piece them together, desperate for some semblance of normality, for an illusion at very least. I am trying to fix this, whatever this is, when it was never really whole.  
I always thought that this, whatever this is, I'm not even sure anymore, was normal. It was only the voices in my head that told me differently. Those hard, determined, resolutely evil voices.  
My Virginia was a murderer. She was a witch and a child-killer. That's what they told me. I didn't believe them, for the longest time, but maybe the laudanum (such a beautiful thing, in its elegant brown bottle) weakened my resolve. Because now I am sure.

Virginia. Gemma.  
Those names don't even sound alike, but when I think of one, the other resonates in the back of my mind. I think it started with how much they looked alike. Virginia, with her hair pulled back, looking as beautiful as always. A tiny Gemma, running towards her father, me, her red curls bouncing behind her.  
My angels.

Or those that I thought of as my angels. My Virginia, who was not. My Gemma. My baby girl, who may be heading the same way as my wife.  
I cannot let that happen. She will still be an angel, my angel, and I will not let anything happen to her. I will let go of that brown bottle, and the voices that reassure me that what might be maddened ravings are indeed sane. I will do anything to stop this from happening to her.  
I will do anything for her, because she is my everything.

**A/N: So there. I wrote this very quickly because I don't feel very well, but I need to keep to my schedule. I know, I have OCD. But whatever. If you review, you can be my best friend. Only a click away.  
See you in six days!**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	11. Grandmama

**Disclaimer- Disclaiming! Disclaiming!!! This has been disclaimed. **

**A/N- I am channeling my inner Grandmama. AKA, bitchy, racist and nagging. Fun. -dense sarcasm- Also, whatever I say about India in this chapter is not my personal opinion, but what I think Grandmama would say. **

Grandmama-

I was a pretty girl in my youth. I didn't look like Gemma, or her mother, but they aren't exactly beauties. I always knew India wasn't good for the blood, or the complexion. And what young lady grows up in India? Among uncivilized… _people_? I grew up here, in England, like a young lady should. I was taught decorum, manners, music, and art. Unlike Gemma. Thank goodness there are boarding schools to send unruly grandchildren to.  
Tom was never the trouble Gemma was. He was obedient, eager, and fit into society well. He was always pleasant around me, knew his standards, knew his duty and he knew how to act around important company. Unlike Gemma.  
I never really had any time to worry about my granddaughter. When Tom first came to London for his schooling, I didn't spend very much time around him: I didn't live in my city house then. When I was around him, he was always on his best behavior, and if I didn't know he had grown up in India, I wouldn't believe it myself. When Tom first came, I had the time to worry about him (needlessly) because I didn't have to worry about my own son.  
When Gemma came, I had to worry about finding her a place in this society, seeing as she was only an untrained girl from India, and I had to worry about her father. John was so very frail, so very weak, after that Virginia died. He took up most of my thoughts. I had no time to worry about the girl herself.

Now I look back and something like regret pinches me, because I never really got to know my granddaughter. Not who she truly is. I regret that I never fussed over her or told her silly stories. Part of me regrets that. Most of me is a well-bred English lady, who would never do things like that.  
I will always wonder what would happen if I did.

**A/N- HI! I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed as a whole: I didn't have time to thank everyone this time around!  
****Okay, I will probably do Amar next, or Emily… I would like some feedback on this chapter. It feels a little repetitive to me, and I would like to know what you think… I also tried to portray her as a person with shades of gray. Not totally evil, and not totally good. Did I succeed? **

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	12. Emily

**Disclaimer- If you haven't got the point already, you should be banging your head against your desk right about now.**

Emily-

Sometimes, I imagine I look like her. I imagine he looks at me like he looks at her when he thinks no one is watching.  
I don't know why he doesn't want me: I like to think I'm prettier than her, nicer than her, and surely she treats him like he is less than her. He isn't. He is kind and he is beautiful and he is smart. She does not deserve him. I like to think I do.

When he thinks no one is watching. I am always watching. Maids have eyes and ears for everything, without the mouth. I know that he is in love with her; I can see it in his eyes. I can see that she is not sure, but she does like him.  
Why does she want him, when she has everything else?  
She has money, she has a place in society, she has friends, she has an education, and she has a suitor who calls on her. She has everything I could ever wish for, and still it is not enough. But what is ever enough for humans? When do we ever stop wanting?  
I am sure that she does not want simple things, like I do. I want him to love me, to look at me like he looks at her (_when everyone is watching_) and to be happy. I want to better myself, and still be the person I am.  
I am sure that she does not want that. She must want everything that there is in the world, since she has so much and she still wants more.

Sometimes, I wonder what she will do in the end. Will she run away with him? Will she marry her handsome suitor, and never look back? Will she grow old alone, still living with her family?  
Would she be happy with him? Would she grow old with him, in a place I will never see? Would she have his children, and would she take him without a thought to anyone else? I'm quite sure she would (_but if she would abandon thought of everyone else, why does she deserve him?_).

I don't suppose it will really matter in the end. Because if she doesn't choose him, I don't think he will choose anyone else. I will never even be second best. I will marry a normal English man, who lives like I do, and I will have normal English children, who will live like I do. But I will always wonder what could've been. And I suppose that will haunt me for a very long time.

**A/N- I am lacking inspiration. Totally and completely. My Muses haven't given me anything, so this isn't particularly good: in other words, don't blame me, blame the Muses! On a few brighter notes, TSFT comes out in 8 days (-fangirlspaz-), Christmas is in 7, I'm done school in 3, a Cobra Starship hoodie was accidentally shipped to my house and the italics have returned!!! **

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


	13. Amar

**Disclaimer- I don't own Amar, or Kartik or Gemma, as much as I wish I did.  
****A/N- Personally, I don't think Amar has crossed over yet, so that is how this story will be. 'Kay?**

Amar-

I want a normal life for him. I don't want him to end up like me, lost and alone, and cold in these Winterlands. I don't want him to be tempted by evil, and I want him to make the right choices. I want him to decide what he wants, and to move on that. I want him to be free, and to know that every day is your last.  
His choices are all in front of him, and the key to all his choices? His red haired priestess. She could be the death of him, or she could show him a new life. I can feel it, and now I know it.

Most of time here, I can't feel much of anything. I can barely feel my extremities, and it seems like I no longer have control over the things that I physically do. I know what I want, though, and I think that is the only thing that keeps me half-sane. He is the only thing I have left—we were taken from our parents, I didn't trust the Rakshana any longer, and Mrs. Doyle was more of a duty than a friend. I no longer want anything for myself, and I wish everything that I learned could be given to him in one way or another.

She is the choices that he has. He could do as he is ordered, or he could take the road less traveled. Either way, it will lead him back to her, and either choice will alter his life. I know he believes in caste, but I don't believe this was laid out for him. HE will make his choices by himself, and I desperately hope he makes the right ones. She can only lead him.

**A/N- Bleh. That's how I feel about this one. I don't think I captured Amar very well, and for that I am sad—I really like what we see of his character.  
****Thanks to everyone for reviewing. I'll see you in six days.  
****Happy Christmas.**

**Much Love,  
****Scales.**


End file.
